


Nightmares

by Captain_Loki



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e04 Abomination, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I keep having the same dream over and over,” he says, addressing the opposite side of the train car. “About what happened…at the pool.”</p><p>“Oh,” Derek replies. There's a long pause that passes in silence. “What happens?” </p><p>“No one comes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

Stiles wakes in the middle of the night with this feeling seizing at his chest, his fist clenching and unclenching the material of his t-shirt in a tight ball as he gasps for air. He can feel it, like water seeping into his lungs and pressing in around him, and the image of Derek on the bottom of the pool flashes behind his eyes when he lets them slip shut.

He stares at the ceiling and wills the feeling away. He can remember with vivid realism being dragged beneath the surface of the pool, his limbs growing heavier and heavier, moving more slowly as he tries to tread water with the dead weight of Derek’s paralyzed body clutched in his sore fingers.

Stiles can taste the chlorine and feel it burning his nose and lungs.

He drops his palms to his sweaty face and tries to catch his breath. It’s been a week since he and Derek nearly drowned but the nightmares have only gotten worse. Stiles feels hot with fear and the embarrassment of being so affected by…and he’s not entirely sure, either. He knows rationally he has faced far greater threats and neither he nor Derek suffered any actual lasting damage.

But his fingers still shake when he walks by the pool, the way the water makes waves of light that dance across the ceiling feels like a threat.

Stiles pushes the covers off of him with an unnecessary amount of violence. He staggers out of bed on unsteady feet and collapses into his desk chair and pulls the first pair of sneakers he can find on over his bare feet. He doesn’t even bother to change out of his sweat pants, just grabs his hoodie from the end of the bed and pulls it on. He yanks a beanie on over his head and tugs the hood up before snatching the keys to his jeep and tumbling out of his window.

He’s not sure how this impromptu visit is going to be received or what the hell he even hopes it will accomplish, Stiles isn’t even sure why he’s doing it exactly. But it feels like an itch he can’t scratch, this confusing compulsion driving him forward, like he’s been toying with the loose edges of a band aid and waiting to pull.

Stiles’ footsteps echo too loudly even to his own ears as he makes his way through the dark abandoned train station. He has his phone out, a flashlight app Scott had said was stupid poorly lighting his path in front of him.

He wonders if Derek is even…home…when he sees a light flickering in one of the old cars and he makes his way towards it slowly, acutely aware of the fact that Derek must know he’s there. His heart is thumping in his chest and he’s suddenly nervous for reasons he can’t articulate because he still isn’t even entirely sure what he’s doing here.

“Derek?” Stiles voice sounds uncertain and he can feel the trepidation in the slight waver of his tone but he can’t really help it, it’s dark and creepy and he’s literally seeking out a werewolf who threatens maiming and killing on a pretty regular basis.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is surprised and he sits up straight on the dirty old mattress when Stiles makes his way into the car and the half-light of several flickering candles.

“Atmospheric,” Stiles points out with an awkward laugh. Derek just looks at him from across the train car. When Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long pause Derek’s brows draw together in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” He asks. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head and tries to sound reassuring, but Derek looks like he doesn’t quite believe him.

“Your pulse is alarmingly high, Stiles,” Derek points out, like Stiles can’t feel it in his temples and his chest.

“Yeah, well…” Stiles trails off because he doesn’t have a joke for this, and that more than anything actually freaks him out. His hands are shaking again and he’s broken out into a cold sweat.

“Seriously, what is it? You look like death,” Derek tells him.

“I think I feel worse than I look, actually,” Stiles admits, and Derek actually stands and moves closer. Stiles tries to step forward but he’s afraid his legs will give out. Derek looks completely uncomfortable and Stiles huffs out a laugh, or he tries to but it comes out choked off and painful and he realizes his breathing is going shallow and his chest is constricted and his stomach is contracting like his whole body is seizing.

“I think I’m gonna have a panic attack now,” Stiles says, and it comes out calm, like he’s just politely informing Derek.

“Fuck,” Derek says and Stiles just sort of nods and collapses onto the floor on his knees, his head ducked, and his hands splayed out on his thighs as he tries to breathe and can’t. He’s nodding now and he doesn’t know why, his hand scrabbling at his hoodie as he yanks his hood and beanie off.

Derek moves forward and lowers himself to the floor beside him, strong hands clasp over Stiles’ chest before grasping his face lightly.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, his voice is strong though, firm. “Stiles look at me,” he commands. Stiles’ eyes dart everywhere but at Derek’s face. When he finally catches Derek’s gaze, hazel eyes bright and sharp, the shadows on his face moving with the candle flames, he sees him, blurred and blue and beneath eight feet of water.

Stiles gasps harder and snaps his eyes shut, tears springing forward of their own accord and he grasps at the material of Derek’s shirt at his shoulders and holds on.

“ _Derek_!” His voice is raspy and desperate and when he opens his eyes Derek is looking at him with bewilderment and surprise.

“Stiles,” Derek says again, but this time it’s soft and unsure. “Just breathe, whatever you’re thinking about just _stop_ , just listen to my voice, concentrate on the feel of my hands on your skin and just _breathe_.” Stiles manages to gasp in a lungful of air and exhale slowly, he lets his eyes fall closed and thinks of nothing but the way Derek is stroking down his check with his thumb. His breathing starts to return to normal. It’s another minute of Stiles inhaling and exhaling slow and sure before Derek lets his hands drop slowly away from his face, but Stiles can’t bring himself to unclench his fists.

“Stiles?” Derek questions, grasping his wrists, but the touch is light and unsure.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s not sure for what exactly.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, but it’s not accusatory, just concerned. Stiles huffs out a laugh and it sounds unnatural and harsh and he starts shaking his head. When he feels the tears stinging his eyes and making his nose tingle he drops his hands from Derek’s shirt and buries his face in his hands and laughs.

“I don’t know,” he admits truthfully, swiping across his eyes and avoiding Derek’s.

“You’re in your pajamas,” Derek points out.

“I was sleeping.”

“I take it not well?” Derek asks, he’s trying to joke which Stiles appreciates even though he feels like he’s sliding off the deep end.

Pool humor.

Awesome.

Stiles just shakes his head and shivers visibly. Derek reaches out a little unsurely and pulls Stiles’ hood on, straightening it out. Stiles just sort of looks at him.

“I don’t know what to do here,” Derek admits. “Should I call someone?” Stiles falls back onto his ass and shakes his head.

“I needed to see you,” he admits.

“What for?” And now the accusation is back, his tone a bit harsh. Stiles just sort of shakes his head because he’s still not even entirely sure. Derek looks unconvinced.

“I keep having nightmares,” his voice sounds shaky and too quiet. Derek’s expression softens suddenly and he moves to sit beside him. Stiles finds it easier when he’s not looking directly at him.

“About what?” Derek asks, curiously.

“You.”

“Me?” Derek sounds surprised, and Stiles thinks, a little guilty maybe.

“I keep having the same dream over and over,” he says, addressing the opposite side of the train car. “About what happened…at the pool.”

“Oh,” Derek replies. There's a long pause that passes in silence. “What happens?”

“No one comes.” He tries not to picture it in his head but he feels it, everything so real and water rushing in around him and the certainty of death just before he wakes.

“You die?” Derek replies, but Stiles just shakes his head and turns finally to look at Derek. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before Stiles lets his gaze go out of focus, Derek blurring at the edges.

“No. You do.” When he comes back into focus Derek is looking at him curiously. It makes Stiles feel hot again and he turns away. “It feels so real. So _painfully_ slow. And eventually I just _can’t_ , anymore. And you just start to sink and I just…don’t let go.” Stiles’ hands move rapidly, fingers twitching as he gestures.

“And we’re just…at the bottom of the pool and…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Sometimes I try to stay, but then I can’t and I kick back to the surface and I know you’re just down there…dying and I can’t do _anything_.”

“Stiles—“ Derek says, voice unsteady and uncertain. Stiles shakes his head.

“You keep looking at me and saying something but I can’t ever figure out what it is,” Stiles says, voice strained and begging, looking at Derek like he’s willing him to understand something not even he does.

“Probably get the fuck back up to the surface and rescue my ass,” Derek says. Stiles shakes his head.

“Stiles?”

“You said you don’t trust me,” Stiles answers. Derek looks a bit taken aback.

“I—“ but he doesn’t say anything.

“You threw yourself in front of the kanima and told me to run.”

“I can protect myself,” Derek says, like this is a satisfactory explanation.

“But you _couldn’t_ ,” Stiles points out.

“What do you want from me Stiles?” Derek asks, there’s a definite edge to his voice, he’s irritated.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then _why_ are you _here_?” Derek snaps.

“I have no idea,” he says, it comes out high and breathless and he feels a new wave of fresh tears leak out, but he doesn’t hide them or brush them away.

“We’re both _fine_ Stiles…” Derek says, like he’s being stupid, like he doesn’t already know that.

“Yeah,” Stiles says shrugging. “I know. Doesn’t really change the fact that every night I just wake up with this paralyzing fear that _this_ is all just the dream and my nightmares are true.” Stiles doesn’t want to look at Derek, he can feel his face flushing under his gaze.

“You don’t even _like_ me Stiles,” Derek says. Stiles turns to look at him then but he’s not sure what to say. “Why do you look so surprised?” Derek asks and his lip turns up in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not true,” Stiles says, and he doesn’t mean to but he thinks he sounds hurt. “You have that same look on your face Scott gets when there’re letters in his math,” Stiles says. Derek ignores him, shakes his head slightly and stares at him with that same brow furrowed expression.

“Dude, what?” Stiles asks, getting uncomfortable now.

“You’re not lying,” Derek says, like he doesn’t quite understand.

“And you’re surprised that I am being honest or you’re surprised that someone doesn’t hate you?” Stiles questions.  Derek shrugs and turns away.

“Both, I guess.”

“That’s…quite possibly the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stiles informs him. Derek scowls at him.

“So’s your life,” he says.

“Oooh, Sassy Wolf, adding sarcasm to your repertoire. Afraid all that angst filled brooding will give you wrinkles?” Stiles jokes, “can werewolves get wrinkles?”

Derek doesn’t answer the question, he just sort of looks off into space with a pained expression before he opens and closes his mouth several times. Stiles isn’t sure what’s wrong with him.

“I don’t either,” he says finally, but Stiles just sort of stares and shakes his head a bit, confused. “Hate you, I mean.” He sighs, “and I don’t _not_ trust you.” Stiles stares a bit incredulously at him.

“Wow that brought you actual physical pain didn’t it?” He asks, seriously. Derek scowls.

They fall, then, into a comfortable silence that stretches into minutes. The train depot is quiet around them and the candles burn to stubs as they sit, shadows dancing across the walls of the train car. They remind Stiles of the way the light moves bouncing across the surface of the water. His breath hitches.

But before the feeling can settle in his chest he feels Derek’s hand sliding into his, fingers entwining, palm squeezing soft and reassuring. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise and he turns to look at Derek, like he’s going to find someone else sitting there. Derek isn’t looking at him, and Stiles is slightly concerned he’ll look down and see that it’s some else’s hand entirely.

He doesn’t say anything, neither of them do. They sit in silence until Derek tugs him wordlessly and drags him across the car.

“It’s late, you shouldn’t drive right now,” Derek tells him. Stiles doesn’t fathom the possibility of arguing. He watches Derek blow out the candles and he kicks his shoes off and stands there, uncertain. He can’t see anymore.

He feels Derek’s fingers start to slip away and he makes this choked off noise of protest accidentally, hating himself a bit but Derek aborts his movements and lets Stiles tighten his grip. He guides Stiles, then, onto the worn out mattress and Stiles goes easily, lying flat out on his back with Derek beside him, beneath the cover of a worn blanket that Derek throws across them.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak several times but finds he has nothing to say. So he closes his eyes and he squeezes Derek’s hand in thanks and when he wakes from a dreamless sleep Stiles’ arm is numb, but his hand is still clutched around Derek’s.


End file.
